Playing The Victims [BL]

Chapter One Hundred & Fifty One | Fifth World

"They are two very private organisations and are extremely calculated when it comes to what and when information is leaked. We are kept in the dark but are given enough information so that we can only speculate about what they are going to come up with together, something that I'm sure will stop us all in our tracks— regardless of if you're not one who pays attention to this sort of news. From the outside looking in, Radical Innovations has much more to gain from this deal than WATSS, but the security company would never agree if there wasn't a guarantee that they would make a return on their investment."

Going off his reaction, the other journalist turned to face the camera with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Exciting times," she entertained before thanking her colleague for his report and proceeding to go onto another mundane topic.

The only one left behind, and mulling over everything that had been said, was Fahren. Who had just been hit with a substantial amount of information in a short period of time.

Firstly, he tried to recollect the company which had been mentioned— Radical Innovations. There was no such name in his memory, but it was easy to assume that he had overlooked the up-and-coming business. Especially considering he once shirked any mention of becoming a vital member of the one his own family were in charge of.

Over the past few days he had been conscious, Fahren understood that he was in a controlled environment. This was so that whoever was overseeing his treatment, could have absolute authority. Which meant that either his current condition, or one he may have previously been in, was considered dire enough to completely restrict him from the outside world in order to prevent any risk of contaminants.

But probably from the knowledge that he was in his own skin, Fahren wasn't concerned. In fact, day by day, he picked up on the little things that reminded him of how he once treated patients. Gradually bringing them round after a traumatic event, ensuring not to rush the process of recovery. Never more was this applied than in the apocalyptic setting, where everyone was always on-edge.

It had just happened, the screen forming among the meshing of the fabric that seemingly fortified the structure of the building. On it came the news, and that report was the first thing Fahren was introduced to while he was doing his usual mini-tests, that comprised of jig-saw puzzles and other assortment of games intended to test his problem solving and hand-eye coordination.

Whoever was charged with monitoring him, would see that he wasn't visibly shocked about what he was hearing on the screen, nor bewildered. Instead he calmly kept his thoughts to himself, which were mostly fixed on Westergaard Advanced Technological Security Systems.

A company which had a fiercely loyal client-base, one stemming three decades. As its CEO liked to say, there was no easy way to sit at the table. It was tremendously difficult to be considered trustworthy by WATSS, and it wasn't just the sum-total of what was sitting in someone's bank account that made the tycoon's willing to talk business.

These clients were the same people who would be happily invited to the home of the CEO and his family. So it was far from the average producer and consumer relationship.

Which made the situation odd, as the journalist had stated earlier.

Fahren couldn't begin to understand the inner-workings of business deals, or arrangements, but he did understand that this was out of the ordinary for his family. And unfortunately, he knew all too well that there was only one thing that could take them off-guard.

"How are you feeling this morning?" Around half an hour after Fahren had witnessed what was on the new and improved version of a television screen, the room shifted once again and revealed an entrance. One which a tall and handsome man in his early thirties, entered through with a tray in hand, eager to know how Fahren was doing.